


Rome

by salvadore



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Minor Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac wakes up with Scott and Stiles tangled around him. Someone's hand is pressed hot against his skin. Someone's half-hard dick is pressed against his thigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FandumbGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandumbGirl/gifts).



Isaac wakes up with Scott and Stiles tangled around him. He's overly warm even with the blankets kicked down around his knees. Someone's hand has slipped under Isaac's shirt in the night and it's pressed hot and open-handed against his skin. Someone's half-hard dick is pressed against his thigh and Isaac thinks it might be Scott's. The wind is shaking the canvas of the tent around them; it was probably the flapping of the tarp against the tent that woke him.

On his left, Stiles is breathing open mouthed in his sleep against the only pillow they brought. Against Isaac's shoulder, Scott is snoring. Isaac shifts back against the dick accidentally and freezes. He holds himself still. The tent is small. Too small for three twenty-plus year old guys even pressed together.

When Isaac settled in the middle of the sleeping bags last night Isaac thought he was being kind. He thought Scott and Stiles would want the option of pressing themselves to the far sides of the tent. Obviously he thought wrong.

Afraid to wake them, Isaac lies awake. He listens to the sounds of the forest and watches the light change through the orange canvas of the tent. He feels when Scott wakes first, his limbs twitching and shifting restlessly with his snoring stopping with the clacking shut of his mouth.

Stiles takes longer to wake. It's hours after Scott has shifted around on Isaac's shoulder to stare up at the tent ceiling. They're discussing high school Lacrosse – Greenberg might have been a terrible athlete but he's helped coach the Beacon Hills team to State Regionals for the first time in Beacon Hills history. Scott's laughing, stifling the sound with the palm of his hand. His body is a hot line pressed against Isaac, and Isaac is laughing too but more subdued.

“I like Greenberg,” Scott says. He's grinning that dopey way that makes Isaac's throat feel tight. “One time Stiles puked on his gear and he wasn't even mad. He just helped Stiles to the nurse's office.”

Isaac swallows hard at the way that Scott says _''Stiles''_.

Stiles mouth snaps shut, abruptly, and both Scott and Isaac still. Nails drag lightly over Isaac's skin as the hand under Isaac's shirt withdraws. It leaves Isaac shivering. Awake, Stiles shifts around until he's lying on his back, wiggled half-out of his shirt. Pale skin, freckles and the edges of raised pink scar tissue appear in Isaac's peripheral vision.

"I know you assholes aren't sleeping," Stiles mumbles, words sleep slurred. "Go run around. Do werewolf things. Leave me alone."

His teasing has the effect of breaking the intimacy of the moment. Scott's moving immediately, rolling up on his hands and knees to crawl over Isaac to get to Stiles. He hovers over Stiles, grinning at Isaac conspiratorially for a moment.

"You should get up, Stiles." He says it right into Stiles' ear, laughing when Stiles flounders under him.

“Asshole,” Stiles groans, playfully punching Scott's shoulder. He doesn't roll off Stiles, but flattens against him to Stiles' mock grunts and groans. They play wrestle while Isaac watches, hands clasped on his stomach and eyes drooping. He didn't realize he was tired until he's falling asleep to Stiles' laughter in his ear.

“No fair using werewolf powers!” Stiles shouts. And Isaac can't help smiling at that as he falls asleep.

 -

They're camping in Hoosier National Forest Indiana. They're there on an errand from Lydia's banshee powers – the whole task is vague and if it weren't Isaac's first so-called “mission” as a member of the McCall pack again he'd be calling bullshit on the whole thing. But it is, and he's trying to prove he's worth having back. But it's been a year and Isaac doesn't feel like a beta – he still feels like the omega who traveled across Europe for years after falling out with Chris Argent.

When he came back to Beacon Hills, Scott had answered the door to the McCall house with a smile. He didn't ask questions. Or have accusations. He'd just invited Isaac inside where there was a pack meeting in progress and he'd introduced him. Easy as all that, slipping Isaac back into his role. Like it had been a week and not five years.

 

Isaac wakes up from the memory to the sounds of Stiles and Scott howling outside the tent.

He clambers out of the tent to find Stiles making a ridiculous pose, chest puffed out as he howls at the sky. He looks ridiculous. He looks hot. Isaac doesn't remember Stiles being hot in high school. It's maybe one of the most disconcerting changes.

Stiles is wearing shorts and Isaac can't help but stare at the stretch of hair and freckles on pale skin there – cross country did wonders for the muscles there even if it didn't improve Stiles' lacrosse prowess.

Stiles notices that Isaac is awake while Scott is taking his turn at howling, posed the same but so much louder. Less cartoon-ish and stirring something in Isaac's wolf that he has to tamp down on. He focuses on Stiles teasing instead.

“Good morning, sleepywolf,” Stiles says, and he smiles, self-satisfied, at his own joke. Isaac really hates that Stiles is hot now. He rolls his eyes even though that's just more ammo for Stiles.

“Don't make that face at me!” Stiles makes an affronted look in return. His hair is nearly a nest of untended bed-head, and Isaac thinks the shirt he's wearing is Scott's.

He thinks Scott is wearing Stiles' sweatshirt too.

They're supposed to be looking for herbs or magic stones or something else ridiculous – it has to be ridiculous for it to have taken them all the way to Indiana. They could've flown, but Scott thought it would be more fun as a road-trip, and Isaac couldn't help saying yes to the face Scott made when he was invited. So they drove all the way, cramped in Stiles' new jeep.

Sitting in the open flap of the tent, which is a garish bright orange, Isaac is watching Scott poke at the fire pit now that he's scared away any local animal life. Stiles is going through the list Lydia wrote of things they need, and Stiles is acting all business like now that they're sweaty from acting like children – Isaac's throat goes dry again. They haven't showered in nearly three days. Stiles at least should smell terrible, but he smells like Scott. Like _pack_ and _belonging_. Isaac doesn't smell like that. It's frustrating. It makes him want to press close to Stiles, wrap up in him and drag skin against skin just to get Scott on him through osmosis. Th omega in him shakes too much to allow Isaac to rub against Scott himself.

“Do you think we could go through Utah on the way back?” Scott asks. He's staring at Stiles with furrowed eyebrows.

“Dude, if you get lost on the Colorado river I'm not saving you,” Stiles quips, off-handed. Some inside-joke Isaac doesn't get. There's a pause. Then Stiles adds, “The red-rock there is supposed to be one of those 'see before you die' type of things.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Sure, buddy.”

Stiles smiles down at his notebook where Scott can't see. Scott is grinning excitedly. Isaac doesn't know who it hurts to look at more.

 -

Scott goes to sniff around the woods. Shirtless. Stiles rolls his eyes at Scott's disappearing back and murmuring, “What a weirdo,” to himself. It's said fondly though so Isaac pretends not to hear it.

“So did you learn French while you were over there?” Stiles asks, breaking their some-what companionable silence. He's been drawing or writing in the notebook while Isaac tracked animals in the undergrowth, dead bored but doing his best impression of Derek in this situation. He looks at Stiles and finds himself focused in on the page.

“Enough to get me around, yeah.”

Stiles looks at him. And oh, that's arousal that Isaac's smelling, for sure. He can't help it if he grins wolfishly at Stiles. Scott's not here and the way Stiles has been pulling at his hair has left it sticking up in all directions. It's cute. So is the way Stiles shifts anxiously at being looked at that way.

“Do you want me to speak French for you, Stilinski?” Isaac asks just to see how Stiles will react. He remembers him being explosive, frantically looking to lose his virginity so long ago. He expects Stiles to flush, maybe flail about before changing the subject.

He doesn't expect Stiles to close the notebook and give him his full attention, or for him to be forthright.

“I'd rather you blow me.”

At least Stiles flushes when he says it.

 -

Naked on his back in the tent and skin golden from the sun shining through the tent – Stiles looks good. Isaac would hate that if his dick wasn't hard in his briefs and mouth open at the sight. He can see the see Stiles' scars clearly now – claw marks along his ribs that are still pink. Running his fingers along them makes Stiles arch minutely, mouth open in a silent pant.

Isaac wants to ask how it happened, but he licks his lips and holds back the words.

Stiles curls a hand around his own erection and starts fucking into it slowly.

“I can get myself off to you just looking,” Stiles huffs out. “It's hot, don't get me wrong. But I think I was promised a blow job.”

“I didn't promise you anything,” Isaac says. But he leans down to gently run his lips and teeth along the scar lines, in opposition to his teasing tone. It's worth the sound that it punches out of Stiles, a bitten off curse.

When Isaac leans back a breath after Stiles is holding his dick tight. He's got his eyes closed tight and he's shaking. Looking like he could come any second. Isaac doesn't want to touch the emotion unfurling his chest at the sight. He's got too much unresolvable want stowed there for him to possible hold more.

He touches Stiles side gently, just the brush of his thumb and forefinger against Stiles hip bone. And Stiles' eyes fly open.

Isaac whispers, “Hey.”

There's a breath between when he speaks and when Stiles stops looking like he's holding himself in tight control. He blinks, and stares at whatever dumb look is on Isaac's face, and his heartbeat pounds loud. Isaac touches him again. He waits until he hears Stiles' breath start to even out before he puts any pressure into touching Stiles' skin.

Finally Stiles huffs, “You're still such an asshole.” His smiles is to his eyes when he looks at Isaac. He looks amused. It relieves Isaac enough for him to smile. He didn't realize he was this nervous.

It's easier from there. Kneeling up, Isaac tries to get naked too even though there's hardly any room to move. One close call between his knee and Stiles' balls has them laughing, hands carefully steadying each other. Isaac grins against the skin of Stiles' shoulder, letting Stiles take the weight of his body as he settles over him, thighs spreading Stiles' legs further.

Stiles' hand is back to jacking himself off. It's a slow and teasing motion, but it's hot in the tent and Stiles is shifting from the heat. Perspiration is beading along his skin and Isaac can smell him strongly now, smell Stiles scent under it all. That calms Isaac too.

 

When he's kissing his way around Stiles' navel, Isaac murmurs, “I thought you were afraid of needles,” against Stiles' skin. With Stiles' socks ditched just outside the tent and his knees pulled around Isaac's shoulders Stiles' tattoo is hard too miss. It's solid black ink against the paler skin of Stiles' ankles; it's unmistakably identical to the one around Scott's bicep.

“I am,” Stiles says. He's starting to chuckle at the end of the words, but one good nip to the soft skin of his stomach has him moaning instead.

Stiles has a farmer's tan from wearing socks high enough to cover the tattoo. Isaac doesn't ask.

“It hurt way fucking more than I thought it would too,” Stiles adds. He's panting through the words, jerking himself faster to the feeling of Isaac's fingers curling around the soft skin of his inner thighs. Isaac slinks down further to kiss against Stiles' fingers where they're wrapped around his dick. Stiles head hits the pillow with a whumpf as he arches so hard he's nearly shaking from it. If he kneels up, Isaac can look over the lines of Stiles' body, see the formed muscles that weren't there before, the lines of Stiles ribs, the way his scar stands out against his flushed skin.

Isaac wraps his lips around the head of Stiles' dick and listens to him whine through his teeth.

Stiles means it when he whines, “I'm going to come soon,” frustrated and straining to hold back. If his mouth wasn't occupied, Isaac would be telling him to come, that he wants to see it. Because he does, desperately. His dick is hard against his stomach and he thinks if he touches it he'll explode.

Isaac sinks down so the “o” of his lips touch the circle of Stiles' fingers and that's all it takes. Stiles comes with a gasp. After he shakes for a second against the blankets. And it's Isaac's turn to whine, put on edge at the sight. He kneels up, wrapping a hand around his dick and watching Stiles run a shaking hand down the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he pants.

It only takes Isaac a few strokes around his own dick to be coming. He gets it across Stiles' thighs which seems fitting. With the taste of Stiles' come in his mouth.

Falling to the blankets beside Stiles, Isaac kisses his shoulder between deep breathes. His eyes are closed long before Stiles recovers enough to move. He wraps his naked body around Isaac's own. And now he kisses Isaac's skin. He feels like he's shivering, but he feels hot against Isaac. Stiles brushes his fingers through Isaac's hair, and draws hesitant fingers over scar tissue. Isaac whines against the touch. He presses his face into the blankets, eyes shut tight, and hopes Stiles didn't hear it.

With Stiles' body to shelter him from the dimming light of the sunsetting behind the trees, and his nose to the blanket, Isaac can catch the scent of _pack_ there, under the scent of sweat. Isaac's chest aches. But not enough to keep him awake. He drifts off to Stiles' open-mouthed breathing on his skin, sweat sticking between them.

Listening to Stiles breathe, Isaac wonders if it'll be obvious what they've been up to or if Scott will realize when he finds them naked.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](http://markcat.tumblr.com)


End file.
